Ghonewyn's Trials
by Questhead
Summary: A young paladin is sent to assasinate Emperor Crush but bites off more than she can chew.
1. Chapter 1 New Beginnings

Ghonewyn pressed her back against the rock wall, sword clutched tightly in both hands. Her shield lay on the floor across the yawning hallway entrance.  
A few torches flickered on the walls around her, confounding her elven eyes as they shifted between light spectrums. Still, battle was near and she was  
grimly determined.

Ghonewyn was an elf, a high elf to be specific, a race of rare, enlightened, civilized people of which the world of Norrath had never seen before, with the possible exception of the human Erudites. Still, they were only human, and had their limitations. She was tall (especially for an elf) with an unblemished face and a smooth, curvaceous figure that caused many men to stop and stare. She was no stranger to battle, yet never scarred from her wounds. Her hair was a fiery red that spilled down her ornate plate-and-mail armor like a conflagrating waterfall. She did not wear a helmet, so that her enemies would be able to see the grim visage of their doom.

She was beautiful, and she knew it. Many men had fallen helplessly in love  
with her over the years, and the chagrin of her parents was complete when she had told them that she would follow the hard, chaste path of the Paladin. But, she had abandoned their wealth, their comforts, and their last name long ago in the pursuit of protecting the helpless and bringing justice to the chaotic lands of Norrath. Now, she was known as Ghonewyn Aegischild, shield to those who needed protection, and the judge, jury, and executioner of those who sought to exploit them.

Ghonewyn had been sent on a mission by her master paladin Yuin Starchaser  
to infiltrate the Crushbone orc stronghold on the North end of the continent of Faydwer, which the elves were forced to share with their (distant) cousins the wood elves, the dwarves, the gnomes, and the despicable orcs. The mission was to sneak in and assassinate Emperor Crush. Wood elf scouts (little more than barbarians, they were- it was hard to believe that they were related to Ghonewyn's civilized race) reported that a large orc strike force was amassing to sweep across Faydwer in a single fell swoop. It was believed that by assassinating their leader, the army's backbone would be broken and it would disperse, that the orcs would crawl back into the hovels from which they emerged. A call was sent out for volunteers, and when Ghonewyn had heard of the army, she jumped at the chance to combine the two things she loved best- protecting the innocent and crushing orc skulls.

She was sent to Kelethin, city of the Wood Elves, to rendezvous with several skilled individuals who would assist her in her mission. They were: Conundrum, a scatterbrained gnome magician; Drogin, a gruff and surprisingly bloodthirsty dwarf cleric of Brell Serilis (the Keeper of Secrets beneath the Mountain- it made her skin crawl to think that another God's power would touch her. She prayed that Tunare would understand); and Leilia, a taciturn yet remarkably skilled wood elf ranger. The four had snuck around the great sea of orc warriors at Leilia's lead and had gotten this far into the stronghold. The party arrived to find the fortress nearly empty of orcs. It seemed as though every orc in Faydwer had amassed in that army that waited to strike just outside. Ghonewyn wanted to enter the keep through the front door and confront her enemies directly with honour, but Leilia silently insisted that they look for a back door and sneak in. The woman's lack of honour frustrated Ghonewyn, but Leilia was usually right about this sort of thing, so she agreed.

The party wandered across the morbidly quiet stronghold, looking for a way into the keep, and had stumbled across this mine where many men and women of differing race and creed were kept as slaves to work the mines. Ghonewyn's heart broke when she saw their injuries and their hardships, and she insisted that they free them. Drogin agreed eagerly, Conundrum was too busy talking to himself to notice, so Leilia's pleas for caution were overruled and the foursome ventured into the caves.

When they first entered the mine Leilia indicated that a large party of orcs was up ahead. The party ventured on until they found a suitable place for the battle, and set up a hasty plan.

The plan was simple. Leilia would approach the orcs in stealth, get their attention (probably by putting an arrow or two through some orcs heads) and draw the stupid beasts back to where the other three waited. It was hoped that the party could force the orcs into a bottleneck while Drogin lent his healing powers, Leilia provided cover fire if things got messy, and conundrum watched their backs. This sort of fight was Ghonewyn's element, so she agreed readily to be the front at line.

The piggish grunts and squeals from up ahead snatched Ghonewyn from her revelries and she began to concentrate on the task at hand. The squeals soon grew closer and Conundrum began casting a spell.

Leilia burst through the mouth of the tunnel and dove aside just as Conundrum finished his spell. A great cone of flames streaked across the room and immolated the leading orcs in a great conflagration of magical fire. They barely lived long enough to scream.

An orc rushed through the mouth of the tunnel, running full tilt for Conundrum. Ghonewyn swung her sword, catching the orc on the collarbone and knocking it over. She reversed the sword and plunged it through the orc's heart. She yanked her sword free and rolled aside to the opposite side of the tunnel opening. She grabbed her shield and turned around just in time to deflect a mace blow that fell with arm- numbing force. The orc raised its weapon for another strike, but just as the weapon fell, a grey-fletched arrow buried itself into the orc's temple. Barbarian though she was, Leilia was a remarkable marksman.

Conundrum had unleashed another spell by now, lacerating several of the  
largest orcs Ghonewyn had ever seen in a shower of conjured razors. Blood   
splattered everywhere and caused the lead orc to slip on the slick stone and  
fall on his back.

Ghonewyn leaped to her feet and finished him off. She stood in the tunnel entrance, shield extended, sword held at the ready, a stalwart fortress against the bloodthirsty abominations. She dealt many wounds and much death, but was dealt many wounds as well. Each time she thought she would succumb to her injuries, a wave of warmth washed across her body and closed her wounds immediately. Her arms grew heavy, but each time she grew weary renewed strength and vigor would flowed through her body once more.

One time through the course of the battle a party of orcs thought to circumvent the battle and take the party by surprise from behind. Leilia was there in an instant, raining arrows down among their ranks, while Conundrum finished them off with a second great gout of flame.

The battle wore on for many minutes, but eventually, after many bodies had piled up, enemies grew scarce and those not already slain lost heart for the fight and flew at full speed.

Sincere exhaustion permeated Ghonewyn's body- she had never before slain  
so many enemies at one time. It had not been a battle among equals- it was a  
slaughter. None had so much as stood a chance against her and her friends. The deepest guilt she had ever known gripped Ghonewyn's body and she threw up, the wasted food lost among the bodies and meandering streams of blood.

As she knelt with her head hanging in her hands, she heard the sound of metal boots splashing in the viscera and heard a voice like gravel muttering. She looked up to see Drogin turning over the bodies one by one, checking for valuables. She looked at him in disgust and he shrugged. "Gotta tithe to me chaerch somehow", he said. Ghonewyn shook her head, and rose to her feet. She closed her eyes in concentration. The blood staining her magical sword and armor evaporated, leaving behind not a single trace of the grisly battle. Ghonewyn sheathed her sword and looked around. Leilia was cleaning her sword with a scarlet handkerchief and Conundrum was sitting comically cross-legged in a dry corner, eyes closed with elbows resting on his knees and with thumbs touching middle fingers. He was chanting "auuuuummmm" repeatedly. Despite being a gnome, Conundrum made her laugh- usually. Not this time, though. They had slaughtered so many, how could they be so calm?

A gloved hand grabbed her wrist. She looked down to see Drogin smiling with a fat purse and a key ring in his hand. "Ye kilt thirteen yerself,  
lass. Good job, ye've earned this gold," he said, extending the purse and key  
ring.

Suppressing the urge to vomit once more, she forced a smile at the little dwarf. "Thank you, but gold has no value to me. I shall take these, though," she said, and politely took the key ring. Drogin shrugged and turned away. Ghonewyn sighed and lifted the heavy key ring, sorting through the many  
keys and forcing herself to think of which key belonged to which slave's manacles.

She heard Drogin's gravelly voice behind her. "Listen, lass. I know what ye're thinkin', and a've been there, too. Orcs kilt me mum and me pa. Me brother went a'lookin fer vengeance one day, and 'e ne'er came home. Orcs took me whole family, and I owe 'em the favour. Years ago I led a slaughter that makes this look like a barbarian sparrin' match, an' fer a few days I felt guilty over it meself. But then I remembered: orcs are good fer nuthin' but dyin'. They'd kill everyone you care about if'n they got the chance. Me life is proof o' that. Don't ye feel bad fer what ye was privy to- it had to get done. We need ya- anyone who swings a sword like ye do a'int too bad- even if she is an elf."

Ghonewyn spun in anger and unleashed her fury against him. "And how are  
we any better than them for doing this?! What if these orcs had families!? I am all for killing orcs, but this- this was senseless! They didn't stand a chance! We just hacked them to pieces, and you're telling me it was justified?!"

Drogin shook his head. "No, I'm not justifyin' this, I'm sayin' it had te get done. These orcs woulda invaded yer home and kilt yer family, too, had ye not done the same here t'day. The difference is that we woulda been perfectly happy ta be left alone- these orcs woulda come and sook ye out ta kill ye had ye not done it first. At least, I would've been happy to stay in me home with me family, but thanks to these beasts," Drogin kicked one of the corpses in the nose, crushing the bone and cartilage and adding yet more gore to the growing pool, "I can't do that anymore. Ye'll see one day, I know ye will." Drogin turned his back and resumed his looting.

Ghonewyn stood for a moment and muttered to herself. "There was no  
honour in this. No honour at all."

Drogin shook his head and didn't turn around. "Do them orcs got honour? Does honour make it harder to die on a sword?" Ghonewyn didn't answer, and Drogin didn't press the point.

Ghonewyn shook her head in frustration and stalked out of the cave to the  
slaves' camp. She sorted through the keys and freed them all, handing them extra  
weapons found on the orcs and bidding them stay there until Ghonewyn came to get them after she was finished her mission. She didn't know how she would escort several score slaves out of Crushbone without them and Ghonewyn's party being discovered, but she would figure it out once she got there.

She walked back to the camp and found her friends ready to depart. Conundrum had finished his meditation, and was smiling cheerily to Ghonewyn as though he had not helped slaughter several dozen orcs in the mine-turned-abattoir. No wonder she didn't eat meat.

The party ventured on, and eventually found what they were looking for. A tunnel attached to the slave camp behind the mines led straight to the kitchen. The party met a surprised group of cooks boiling some form of putrid meat and the group made short work of them (Ghonewyn took no part in it, of course). Upon inspection of the area, Leilia uncovered several human and dwarf bodies frozen in an icebox. Apparently when a slave could work no longer the Emperor had a special feast. The thought disgusted Ghonewyn and Drogin, but as usual Leilia gave no sign of emotion, and Conundrum seemed preoccupied with something in his tinker box. The group proceeded past the kitchen and climbed what seemed like an endless staircase. Ghonewyn and Drogin were winded when they finally topped the crest - Conundrum seemed ready to pass out - but Leilia seemed to be unaffected. Leilia indicated that they had to be close to the throne room, and that they should be  
wary.

"Wait, wait- yes, wait we must, for but a moment," Conundrum wheezed. As  
most gnomes do, he soon lost control of his rate of speech and the rest of the  
party had to concentrate hard to understand. "ThereisaspellImustcast,thatwillhelpusgreatlywhenthebattlebegins,yes? Imustjustcatchmybreathfirst. Phew!" Conundrum just seemed to collapse and he lay there on his back for several minutes, his tiny chest heaving from exertion. Finally he got up and spoke in his maddeningly fast rate of speech. "IshallnowsummonanelementalfriendwhowillaidusagainstEmporer  
Crush.Ijustaskyouthis:fireiceorearth?" Ghonewyn blinked several times, not having understood a word.

Leilia seemed to catch at least a part of it. For the first time since Ghonewyn had known her she spoke in a high, musical voice that was very pleasant to hear. "Fire. I would like to have this battle over as quickly as possible, and the more work that magic does for us, the less we have to do. Shall we continue?" Conundrum nodded energetically and pulled a small gem from his pocket.

Ghonewyn was surprised at how civilized and educated Leilia's speech sounded.  
She found herself looking forward to when the battle was over, so she could get to know this enigmatic woman.

Conundrum finished his spell and a small gateway opened in midair, admitting a small elemental creature that floated in the air. It was coloured a fiery red, had short, curled goat horns protruding from its forehead, and had no legs, yet in their place was a swirl of flames on which it floated in the air. The little flames remarkably did not seem to give off any heat.

The elemental bowed to Conundrum and spoke to him in a guttural language that Ghonewyn didn't understand. Conundrum smiled a great mouthful of pristinely white teeth and bowed back to the elemental creature. He conversed with it for a few moments and turned to the party. He seemed to remember this time that they could not understand him, and slowed down his speech to a reasonable speed. The effort seemed to pain him greatly. "Guys, meet Gobartik. Gobartik, this is Ghonewyn, Leilia, and Drogin." Gobartik bowed to each of them in turn and said something to Conundrum in his gutteral language. Conundrum nodded and turned towards the party. "Gobartik says that it is a pleasure to meet you, and that any friend of his master's is a friend of his."

Ghonewyn bowed and replied. "Tell him that the honour of this meeting belongs to us, and that we will look forward to fighting alongside him." Drogin rolled his eyes and Leilia watched impassively. Conundrum nodded and relayed the message to the fiery outsider. Gobartik bowed deeply to Ghonewyn.

"Well, now that that'ssettledshallwecontinue?" Leilia nodded and Gobartik  
floated over to a step behind Conundrum.

The party continued their trek, and found another seemingly endless staircase. The keep surprised Ghonewyn- it certainly hadn't looked so tall from the outside. By the time the party crested the top, the only ones not ready to collapse were Leilia and the elemental (damn outer plane inhabitants with their cursed ability to float. Damn them all!), and even Leilia sighed when they reached the top. After resting for a few minutes, the party entered the throne room.

The beast that sat upon the throne was the biggest orc Ghonewyn had ever seen. Standing well over seven feet tall, he looked as though he had some ogre blood in him. Long, yellowed tusks protruded from his lower jaw. Like all orcs, he was bald, and his skin was a deep shade of blue. Thick, corded muscles looped about his body and strained against the chain mail shirt he wore. A gigantic sword was propped against a nearby wall. He had two orc legionnaires standing on either side of him. The masses of these creature stunned Ghonewyn for a moment.

It would seem that Leilia's earlier suggested plan of a surprise attack would have been impossible. The walls were smooth, worked stone of a quality that seemed out of place in an orc stronghold. There were two large windows on opposing sides of the throne room, but climbing into them would have been impossible without being detected. Two tapestries depicting great flames and orcs slaughtering a great many innocent people adorned the otherwise plain stone walls. There was a great table in one corner of the room, laden with putrid meat on which flies and maggots crawled. The thought of living in such filth was mortifying.

Ghonewyn collected herself and spoke. She drew herself up tall and proud. She prayed that Tunare was with them. "Emperor Crush, your crimes are inexcusable. You have slaughtered thousands of innocent people, torched many homes, and still have not quenched your thirst for blood. In the name of Tunare, your reign of terror ends now." She hefted her shield and drew her long sword, raising it high in the air. She whispered a prayer and the blade began to shine brightly. Strength and vigor flooded into her body, and she could feel the loving caress of her God upon her shoulder. She knew that Tunare was with her, and nothing could change that. Nothing could stop her. Tunare had judged, and Ghonewyn was to be her gavel.

The Emperor laughed a great, gutteral, wheezing snort. He spoke with an intelligence that is rare among his creed. "You, a little elf, will stop me? I have thirty thousand warriors waiting to befall on your pitiful cities. Even if you kill me (which you will not) another will rise to take my place. Your children will be slaughtered, your men will be enslaved, and your women will be ravished. Again, and again, and again. Elf flesh has never much interested me, but I have other uses for elf women." His smile chilled Ghonewyn to the bone, but she renewed her faith in her god and calmness took her once more.

"Enough talk. Prepare for the underworld, Emperor. It is time for you to die." And so it began.

Ghonewyn charged ahead and met the two legionnaires head- on. She cut the  
throat from one, reversed the blade, and slashed through the collarbone of the other. They both fell in a heap, the one with the missing throat already dead. She turned to see Emporer Crush pick up his sword and rest the flat of the blade on his shoulder, as though it weighed nothing. Sweet Tunare, she had never seen a sword so big.

She charged forward, thinking that such a great weapon would slow him down, but she was wrong. He parried her strike, grabbed her waist, and threw her against the nearby wall, dazing her. He picked her up again and tossed her against the opposite wall. It was obvious that he was toying with her, but it was all she could do not to pass out.

Emporer Crush walked over to her, and raised his sword to strike, but several arrows buried themselves into his side, and he staggered for a moment. Magical Razors lacerated his ribs, and a fireball slammed into his leg. Despite his injuries, though, Crush seemed only the worse for wear.

Out of nowhere Gobartik appeared and slammed his little fists into the Emperor's jaw. The Emperor was staggered for a few moments underneath the vicious (and surprisingly strong) assault, but soon regained his footing. Gobartik raised his fist to strike again, but before it landed, Crush swept his sword down Gobartik's middle and the brave little elemental dissipated into thin air.

Ghonewyn staggered to her feet and raised her shield. Crush turned to her, raised his sword, and swung it down at her. She barely managed to deflect it, and she slashed a shallow cut into his forearm. Crush smiled, and backhanded her, staggering her. Crush was hellishly strong.

He raised his sword, ignoring a hail of arrows, fireballs, and divine energy from Drogin and repeatedly bashed it against Ghonewyn's shield, nearly crushing Ghonewyn beneath the force. The onslaught proved to be more than the protector could handle, and finally Crush cleaved the shield in two. Ghonewyn could feel her forearm snap. She screamed in pain and staggered away from the brutal onslaught. Crush smiled at her.

Ghonewyn shouted a prayer to Tunare, crying out for help. She laid her hand against her arm, and warmth suffused her body, repairing her arm and clearing away her other cuts and bruises instantly, renewing her strength and vigor. She picked up her sword in two hands and launched a series of vicious attacks against the Emperor. He impossibly parried them all with that giant sword, smiling all the while.

Ghonewyn heard a strangled cry behind her. She disengaged her attack and turned to see Conundrum clutching a dagger sticking from his back, a dark elf standing over him. Drogin was swinging his mace at the elf wildly, his aim perfect, but his blows were each dodged in turn with ease. A dark elf! Where did he come from? This was fast turning ugly.

Leilia drew her twin blades and set upon the dark elf on the opposite side of Drogin, flanking the dark elf. Ghonewyn was entranced by the beautiful, economical dance of death worked by Leilia. Where Ghonewyn's attacks were vicious, powerful and almost clumsy in comparison, Leilia's were quick, graceful, snakelike slashes and stabs. It was inconceivable that anything would survive that dance, but somehow the dark elf managed to evade both Leilia's and Drogin's simultaneous attacks perfectly.

The dark elf caught one of Leilia's swords in the crosspiece of his dagger, and with a flick of his wrist sent the blade flying. He swept Leilia's feet out from under her and she fell heavily to an elbow. He spun, parried Drogin's mace blow, and ran him through the chest with his rapier. He jerked the weapon free, spun, and kicked Leilia in the chin. Both Leilia and Drogin dropped to the floor, unconscious, Drogin's lifeblood pulsating from the awful wound.

Emporer Crush laughed. She turned back to him to see him leaning against his sword, point down on the ground and both hands resting against the pommel. "So, you like my dark elf friend? His name is Dvinn. He is really very useful, but I think that he would say the same of me. It looks to me that you are quite outmatched." Ghonewyn knew he was right. There was no way that she could fight both at the same time- she was having enough trouble with Crush alone.

Dvinn turned toward the other two combatants, hefted his weapons, and smiled a full mouth of white teeth. Thick white hair spilled about his shoulders. She thought he looked the most dangerous man she had ever seen. "I think, little girl, that it is time for YOU to die." He advanced slowly, inexorably, he and Crush the pincer of Ghonewyn's doom.

Oh well, she thought. If I am to die, I will die well. She turned to the dark elf and gripped her sword in two hands. She heard the swoosh of Crush's sword arcing behind her, and spun, parrying the blow. The impact shattered her sword, but threw Crush off balance. She reversed the blade and smashed the pommel into his chin, spun around and slashed a wide swath through the flank of his chain mail. She pulled the broken blade back, and with all her strength rammed it into his ribs. The broken sword sank in to the hilt. Crush roared in agony and backhanded her across the face. She flew away and struck the wall, hands cushioning her head against the stone.

On the fleeting edges of her consciousness she heard chanting coming from behind her advancing enemies. She turned her head, and saw Conundrum standing, casting a spell.

Dvinn and the Emperor turned. Dvinn seemed to recognize the spell, and cried out in protest. He moved to intercept the incantation, but Conundrum finished his spell in time. The world seemed to sparkle and fade around Ghonewyn, and the last thing she saw before the world melted away was Conundrum's smirking face.

An instant later Ghonewyn lay on her back in the Greater Faydark forest, alone. She sat up, but saw nothing around her but trees. Conundrum had given the last of his power to send her away, to teleport her to safety.

She screamed in protest. Honourable death was denied her, while her friends were left to their fate at the hands of Emperor Crush and that dark elf. She, for some reason, had been spared, while it was their fate to die.

Tears blurred her vision. She had once asked Conundrum where he got such an odd name. He said that his parents got really drunk one night and passed out. Nine months later, he popped out. Neither could explain where he came from, so they named him Conundrum. She would never speak with Leilia. She would never see the little gnome's scatterbrained smile again. She would never hear Drogin's words of wisdom again.

She now understood what Drogin had tried to tell her. Orcs had taken from her her friends, and were about to take everything she had ever loved. Now was not the time for mourning: it was time for vengeance.

She staggered to her feet, got her bearings and, clutching a broken arm, she limped back home.


	2. Chapter 2 Rising From the Ashes

Ghonewyn stumbled along, exhausted with still- fresh wounds banging and burning. Throughout her trek she had lived on berries and roots using what foraging skills Leilia had taught her while Ghonewyn had journeyed with the now-broken party. She was tired, hungry and injured, and home was still nowhere in sight. She felt little hope, but trusted that Tunare had led her in the right direction.  
Earlier on in her journey Ghonewyn had stumbled upon a small venturing party of orcs. When they had spotted her, they raised a great war cry and charged into the battle. Rage had bubbled up in her heart, and Ghonewyn had welcomed the fight. Calling communion with her God around her, she had begun a spell that would smite the filth where they stood- but the spell was more difficult and less powerful than usual, and only felled a single orc. Unarmed as she was, Ghonewyn had been in for a tough fight, and by the time she had disarmed one orc and slain two more, the rest had run, leaving her with several wounds, the worst a deep cut from a sword that had found a chink in her armor and had bit deep into her side. Calling forth her God once more, she had prayed for healing, but again her magic was less forthcoming than usual, and the wound closed only enough so that she would not bleed to death. She had tried it again, when the wound opened again over the course of her journey, but nothing had happened. After considering the situation, she attributed the failure to Tunare being angry with Ghonewyn's failure, and prayed for the chance to prove herself once more. After tying some tourniquets around the worst of her wounds, she set out for home once more.  
Now, Ghonewyn staggered down the beaten dirt path towards her home- or, her home as far as she could figure. She more or less kept what she could see of the setting sun behind her and to her left, but she had neither seen nor heard the wood elfin city of Kelethin yet. Perhaps she had merely passed it before she found the path. She prayed that that was the case.  
As she walked she considered her road thus far. She had been sent by Yuin Starchaser to assassinate Emperor Crush. In all likelihood, she had failed. Her party, her assistance, her friends, were all dead, because she had failed to protect them. Along the way she had led an attack to free the slaves working in the orcish mines. She had succeeded, but only through a battle that lacked honour, thereby failing to live by the paladin's code. As a result of her failure, Ghonewyn was no longer able to reach an intimate communion with her beloved Goddess Tunare as before. It seemed that, these days, Ghonewyn was a walking mass of failures. She would prove herself once more, though. She would break the spine of the incoming orcish invasion and send many of the despiccable pig-spawn to the underworld- then she would be back in Tunare's graces and communion with Her would last forever. 'Yes,' she thought, 'I will earn your love once more, Tunare. You will be proud of me again.'  
Suddenly she heard a voice coming from above her, calling her name. She thought the voice sounded male, and it was decidedly elfin. It was pleasant to hear. With great effort, Ghonewyn opened her eyes, and found herself lying on her back, with two male faces looming over her, both with very concerned looks on their faces. She realized that she recognized them: one was Almin Tynthal, the other Fryno Lovayn. She had chatted with them both on several occasions, and had even succumbed to her womanly urges with Almin once in her early days as a paladin (it had not happened again- Ghonewyn had spent a week atoning for breaking her vow of chastity, and sometimes still felt guilty for it. She had often wondered why something that felt so good was so taboo, but then, her superiors' word was as good as the word of Tunare herself, so she had never questioned the order). Both men were talented warriors, and very compassionate people. Seeing their concern now made Ghonewyn's stomach turn. Shaking a groggy head, she pushed herself up on shaky hands and looked around, the sights causing her heart to leap for joy.  
In front of her loomed the great, swooping spires of her beloved home, Felwithe. Its golden gates stood to testify to the glory that was the high elf race itself, and the immaculate care of the city's buildings portrayed the elves' fastidious attention to detail. The fact that she was finally home nearly brought tears to her eyes. The fact that the reason that she now stood before the gates of Felwithe was that of her failures made holding back those tears all the more difficult.  
Almin spoke first. "Ghonewyn, is that you?" he asked. When she nodded, concern flooded his face. "Sweet Tunare, what has happened to you?! We must get you to a healer, quickly! Lovayn, help me lift her up," he said, and both men leapt to Ghonewyn's side, taking an arm and trying to lift her up.  
Ghonewyn flailed her arms about, removing herself from the presumptuous grip of her so-called friends. It pained her to see the hurt looks in their eyes, but Ghonewyn needed help from no one. As she rose on shaky legs she spoke. "Let me go! I'm fine, it's just a scratch. I must speak with Yuin Starchaser. If you want to help, take me to him," she said. She instantly regretted the cold tone of her voice, especially seeing the hurt in Almin's eyes. Light, but those eyes should never see hurt... no, she thought. She had a job to do, and could think nothing else. She pushed all other thoughts away and concentrated on the task at hand.  
Almin and Fryno led her through the long, winding corridor leading to the inner core of Felwithe. The builders of Felwithe had been ingenuitive tacticians, for the city itself had been built on the opposing side of a cliff separating the Greater Faydark forest from a large opening in the rock. The city was surrounded on all sides by a thick rock wall and sheer, inscalable cliffs. The only way to get in or out of Felwithe was through the front gate, and through a full mile of a narrow, twisting corridor with many tiny eddies and cubbies that wormed its way under the cliff to the city compound. Only five elves could walk abreast in this corridor (even fewer if the traveler were a larger race- a small party of ogres had once tried to attack Felwithe, and only two could stand side-by-side), which meant that a dozen skilled elves could hold off entire armies for days. Also, many torches burned perpetually with flame fed by magic. Should the weaves holding the torches ever be broken, the cave would be plunged into darkness, causing mass confusion to all who were not blessed with infravision, as were the elves. If the battle were to turn awry, the torches could be instantly extinguished and the elves could withdraw under cover of darkness and regroup past Felwithe's second line of defence. These conditions made for an extremely defensible position, and if a battle were to turn awry, all Felwithe's wizards were trained to evacuate mass citizenry with their magic once the wizards reached sufficient power. So far, though, in several thousand of years (conesquently, fewer than a dozen generations of elves), no attacker had ever breached the corridor, so Felwithe's second line of defence had never been necessary.  
The second defence of Felwithe was designed to be the bridge spanning a river that cut through the entrance to Felwithe. When one first leaves the corridor one would come across a wide open space with a gold-and-silver checkerboard bridge spanning a wide, crystal-clear blue river running through the entrance to the city. This bridge was enchanted with a powerful spell that, upon willing it so, any three head mages of Felwithe could cause it to temporarily phase out of existence, cutting off all access to the city across the river. The river was about fifty feet wide, and the cliffsides were rounded off and sloped down slightly, making it difficult for makeshift enemy bridges to take hold on the rock.  
It had been several weeks since Ghonewyn had seen her home, and it was no less glorious than when she left- though it seemed unusually quiet. She thought she knew why- word had already reached them of her failure. Everyone already knew she was a useless failure. She felt like dying from the shame.  
As she walked along, she beheld the beauty of the glittering bridge, the stunning arches of the mages' temple to the south, and the awe- inspiring glory of the temple of the Clerics of Tunare. The structure housing the paladins was a massive, uncommonly square and straight-edged building (most buildings in Felwithe were smooth and rounded). The front had three doors leading to a wide open atrium with several corridors branching off in different directions. One path led the traversere upstairs to the chambers of the upper paladins and the strategy room, another led down to the armories and quarters of the new recruits, and still others deeper into the building on the ground floor for the full-fledged paladins of Tunare. The building was elegant in its simplicity- the floors were white marble, and the walls were gilded with silver. Overhead was an inspiring mural depicting Tunare breathing life upon her children, the elves. It stole Ghonewyn's breath every time she beheld it.  
Now, though, she didn't have time to gaze upon Tunare's glory. An anonymous pair of guards wearing scale mail armor approached to intercept her as she moved to ascend the stairs to the strategy room. Her ire was thoroughly aroused at the inconvenience. "I don't have time for this! I must see Yuin Starchaser. He... I must inform him of the latest goings-on of the impending attack. Move it!" She shouted as she forced her way between them. They stood confused for a moment, unsure of what to do, but allowed her to pass and returned to their posts.  
Despite her weakened legs, Ghonewyn ascended the stairs rapidly, and quickly paced the halls to the strategy room, Almin and Fryno trailing close behind. She paused at the closed door, composing herself and, taking a deep breath, she knocked on the door and entered the room.  
The strategy room was simple, even for a room in the Hall of the Paladins. It was relatively small, and had three chairs at a large table. The table was laden with maps, compasses, and sextants of every kind. The maps were held down with books, knives, rocks, anything available. There were three men in leaning over the table, none wearing armor, but only simple jerkins and trousers, and were surveying the maps and talking quietly yet heatedly. All three looked up at Ghonewyn simultaneously. She knew two of them: one was General Ynlarn Jyleel, commander of Felwithe's defenses, a very hard man; another was Yuin Starchaser, Master Paladin in Tynkale's mysterious absence, a paradoxically kind and compassionate man; and the third was a man wearing a thick brown robe with cowl raised high enough to shield his face. She did not recognize this individual. When Yuin's gaze met hers, Ghonewyn immediately dropped to her knees.  
"I, I have news to report to you, Master Paladin," she stammered. "I, my group has failed in our task. We fought through the dungeons of Castle Crushbone and confronted Emperor Crush himself, but the despicable orcs have struck an alliance with the dark elves. A very powerful dark elf who called himself D'vinn interrupted the attack and almost single-handedly repelled our offensive. Shamefully, I am the only survivor of the attack. Master, I am sorry. I failed." Tears that had begun to well in her eyes splashed on the marble floor.  
Suddenly a hand cupped her chin and lifted it gently. She looked up into the flawless, smiling face of Yuin. He spoke in a deep yet melodious voice. "My child, I understand. Our cousins are a very powerful race, and are not to be trifled with. The attack was a far chance, but one we were forced to take. I trust you and your band slew a number of orcs in the battles?" Ghonewyn's eyes teared up once more as she recalled the horrible slaughter in the mines. She nodded, and Yuin smiled once more. "It is alright, child. You did the best you could. I grieve the loss of your companions. Their sacrifice for the good of Faydwer will not be forgotten. Tunare, and I, still love you." The mention of Tunare sent a fiery bolt of agony through Ghonewyn's heart- Tunare no longer loved her; she was a failure, and not worthy of Tunare's grace. Yuin's words brought her some comfort, though, and she wiped away her tears and stood as best she could. Yuin smiled again and turned his head to nod behind her. Ghonewyn turned and saw her companions standing nervously, unsure of what to do. "Almin Tynthale, Fryno Lovayn, thank you for escorting Ghonewyn home. You have done your duty well. Back to your posts. Dismissed." Yuin said. The pair snapped to attention in unison and thumped fists to plate-and-mailed chests in salute, and marched off, presumably to guard the entrance to Felwithe once more.  
Ghonewyn turned back to the two commanders and silent figure in the room, and saw Jyleel's face alive with fury. Almin and Fryno were his soldiers, Ghonewyn knew, and for Yuin to command them was an affront to Jyleel's authority. Ghonewyn hoped that she would never be in a position of office- the politics of leadership were too tiresome for her one-track mind. Yuin spoke again, his melodious voice soothing her worries. "Come now, child. Help us with our strategizing, for you have witnessed first- hand the might of the orcish armies. What can you tell us about them?" he asked as he led Ghonewyn to the table, on hand on her back.  
Ghonewyn's armor suddenly seemed very cumbersome. She longed to remove it and not be so weighed down- after all, it was battle armor, and not meant to be worn for such a long period of time. She leaned over the table, and spoke. "Well, from what we saw of Crushbone, it is nearly deserted, and the milling sea of filth encamped outside of the god-forsaken area is only the surface of the orcs' power. You see, during our battle with Emporer Crush, he told us that he had thirty thousand swords ready to sweep across Faydwer at any moment." Yuin gasped, Jyleel's scowl deepened, and the third, robed man seemed unperturbed at the disturbing news.  
Yuin spoke in a shaky voice. "Thirty thousand? But, that's more than every man, woman, and child in Felwithe and Kelethin put together! We have heard reports of young warriors entering Crushbone and slaying dozens of orcs in a single attack before they withdrew! How could numbers like that be possible?"  
Ghonewyn shook her head. The whole situation seemed impossible. "I don't know. Maybe he was lying- evil does that, when it seeks to corrupt the hearts of the pure. Perhaps he was exaggerating, in an attempt to make me... make us, panic. Perhaps he was telling the truth, and Faydwer is in for a decisive battle . I don't know, but I do not think he was lying. My party and I slew more than a score ourselves, but compared to the ocean entrenched outside, it seemed our efforts were in vain. A score is nothing to Crush- he can launch his army at Felwithe and fight a battle for a week, and still not every orc will so much as hear the sounds of battle. It seems hopeless now." Ghonewyn's shoulders slumped in sudden exhaustion.  
Yuin laughed heartily. "My child, it is never hopeless. Felwithe has withstood greater threats than this. They may be many, but they are still orcs, and orcs are capable of only so much- even with a dark elf by their side. Trust in Tunare, child, and everything will be alright." Ghonewyn barely manage to hold back a sniff. Tunare didn't help her or her friends in their time of need.  
Jyleel spoke up suddenly, in a high and not- so melodious voice. "Yes, yes, trusting in Tunare is all well and good, but that doesn't explain how we will withstand a battle against ten times our numbers. Even elves must rest, and eat. If the orcs cut off our supply lines, we could starve to death before the fighting even begins. If we starve, How, then, will we be strong enough to fight?" His scowl only deepened as he nodded towards Ghonewyn. She had never liked the man before, but he was right- she was a failure, after all.  
Yuin shrugged. "When not tending our injured the clerics can summon food for us if necessary. We can evacuate via our wizards if events turn too poor for us to handle. We will find a way." Jyleel snorted and bent over the maps once more.  
Yuin turned back to the table as well. "The problem is, there are too many unknowns. The army is amassing, but we don't know when it will strike, or even when it will mobilize itself. We do not know how many there are, though it is confirmed that the army's strength lies in the thousands- there are simply too many to count. We do not know if this dark elf is merely a rogue, or if the orcs are truly allied with the dark elves. Even if they are, Neriak is a long way from here, an entire continent away, and a dark elf army would take a long time to mobilize and arrive here for the battle anyway. We do not even know the fate of Emperor Crush himself- as I am sure that he is suffering right now," Yuin turned his head and winked at Ghonewyn before continuing, "but even if he were to leave the seat of power, another would likely rise to take his place. There are too many unknowns here.  
But, I do believe that we have a chance. I have heard legends of a certain artifact that can be used in our cause. It can rally the hearts of those it touches and increase their fervour. It is a weapon designed to protect and lead the helpless to fend for themselves. It is a weapon of incredible power, able to scour the hearts of all for the evil within and smite it with godly wrath. It may just help us in this battle, and swing the fate of Faydwer in our favour." Ghonewyn looked toward Yuin, enraptured by his tale. Jyleel turned a cynical eye to him, but looked interested nonetheless.  
"What is this weapon you speak of, Master?" Ghonewyn asked intently.  
"It is a sword known, in the legends, as the Fiery Defender."  
"The Fiery Defender..." Ghonewyn whispered reverently. She had heard the legends as well, about how a hero had forged the sword and used it to lead a battle against a horde of dragons long ago. Legend had it that the hero had slain over a hundred dragons himself, simply by calling forth its holy power. She had never in her heart believed the legends true, but if they were, the weapon may just help turn the tide. Sudden courage welled up inside Ghonewyn, and she knew what she must do. "I will do it." She said with resolve.  
Yuin looked at her with surprise. Jyleel scowled at her, and the anonymous figure merely stood, face hidden under the cowl of his robes. Ghonewyn was getting a bad feeling from this individual, but she pushed it out of her mind. "I'll do it. I'll retrieve the Fiery Defender, I'll avenge my friends, and I'll help drive back this army. I'll do it." She said. Something inside her told her that she had no idea what she was getting herself into, but deep down, she was convicted that this was something she had to do to regain her honour, and the love of her God.  
If it were possible, Jyleel scowled even deeper, and threw up his hands in frustration. "This is madness! The Fiery Defender is nothing but a legend, a myth! It doesn't exist! This could be a suicide mission!" He shouted.  
For the first time Ghonewyn had ever seen, Yuin glowered at someone- Jyleel. Ghonewyn suddenly felt as though a glower from this man was a very dangerous thing. "You do not know that for certain. Besides, just as you said, this in itself is a losing battle. We need something to tip the scales. This might just be it. Besides, even if she fails, we would only be back where we started- no sword, no greater numbers, and little hope. We have nothing to lose." Jyleel looked away, as much as admitting the point, and Yuin turned back to Ghonewyn and smiled wide. "Ghonewyn, I admire your bravery and your desire to do good, but you must enter this quest with a pure heart. A heart full of hate, of greed, of selfishness, of pride, will defeat before you even grasp this sword- the sword itself would destroy you for those evils.. Take a day to think about why you want to undertake this quest, then come back to me and give me your answer. We have lost three powerful allies this day- I do not wish to lose a fourth."  
Yuin turned back to the meeting. "We have learned all we can this day. Let us supp and retire for the evening. We've a long day ahead of us. This meeting is adjourned." Yuin saluted the other two, Jyleel returned it grudgingly, and the third figure simply stood there, ready to leave.  
As Ghonewyn, Jyleel, and the taciturn figure began to file out, Yuin touched Ghonewyn's forearm. She turned to him, and was absorbed once more into his warm smile. "Thank you for speaking up. You have brought hope to this tired heart." Ghonewyn's heart leapt with pride at his praise. "Tonight, though, I have research I must do. I must find out as much about this Fiery Defender as possible. Now wait," Yuin placed a calloused finger against Ghonewyn's mouth when she tried to speak up. "I can see how tired you are. Go to the hall of healers tonight and have yourself restored, and then get some rest. I can see it in your eyes- you are nearly ready to collapse. That is an order, child," he said when Ghonewyn began to argue. "Now, go. Get some rest. Retire early- we have an early morning ahead of us."  
Ghonewyn sighed and left the room. She descended the stairs to the ground level, and exited the Hall of Paladins, heading in the direction of the clerics' guild. She even failed to resist her weaknesses. She was just one great, walking mass of failure. 


	3. Chapter 3 The Suffered

The sound of iron wheels grinding against each other woke Leilia from her fevered sleep. On the fringes of her flagging sanity she could feel herself being slowly lowered to the ground. She realized that she had been suspended by her wrists several feet off the ground. She was naked, and she could only tell because she could feel the cold air of the dank dungeon biting against her bare and abused flesh. Yes, she had been abused, she remembered (and soon wished she had forgotten), hurt like no creature ever should be, tortured endlessly for what seemed days on end.  
The torture had been beyond a mere test of physical endurance. There was a time, the only time she had seen the sun, when she had been brought out and laid on the ground, her face turned up toward the sun. Her hands and legs had been tied around poles. A leaky bucket had been fastened to the pole at her arms and filled with water. She had been positioned just so that, no matter how she moved or squirmed, the water dripped onto her forehead, but she could not reach it for a drink herself. She had been left there for days, while the water drip, drip, dripped onto her head. It had been more brutal, more mentally testing than the worst of what that dark elf (D'kin, was it?) had done to her. The vestiges of her reasoning clawed at the name of her torturer, but she no longer had any grasp on time, space, or the world outside of her prison. Some days she could not even remember her own name.  
Shamans had concocted potions that, when the burning liquid was forced down her throat, tore at the fabric of her mind and left her unable to distinguish up from down, left from right, friend from foe. These lasted only hours, but she had usually managed to resist them through recalling what she knew was familiar. Now, the only things familiar to her were her prison and pain, endless pain. She did not even know what she was resisting anymore.  
She shuddered to remember the physical aspect of her torture. Danoon had come down and put his knife to excruciating efficiency. Shamans had joined him, and with their magic made paper-thin slices of air whip about her body, shredding her skin in razor-fine cuts: her face, her back, her stomach, her womanhood. She prayed to Tunare (what was Tunare? She couldn't remember) that the torture had left her barren.  
When Leilia was pushed to the brink of death, a healer was always there to restore her to a somewhat healthy state once more, but due to the crude nature of the healers' magic and the god to which they prayed for their spells of healing, the restoration was often nearly as painful as the wounds themselves. Most of the time Leilia wished she would merely be left with her wounds, if not because of the pain, but because of being touched with the taint of the orcs' evil god itself.  
The worst part about the torture was that, she had not been asked a single question. Her time with Dacross seemed to be nothing more than his enjoyment, and not to extract information from her beleagured mind. She could not even cave and tell him what he wanted to hear, because he wanted to hear nothing but her screams. There seemed to be no end in sight, and she had lost all hope that she would even be allowed to die.  
She (Leilia, was her name?) realized that the grinding noise had stopped, and she looked down to see that her feet had touched the ground. Tension oozed from her shoulders as she transferred weight from her arms and swollen wrists to her weakened legs. The muscles had atrophied considerably in her so-far brief captivity, and it was an effort to stand. She took a deep breath and filled her lungs for the first time since she could remember. The fetid, moldy air tasted like the finest Felwithe wine to her deprived body. That is, it would, if she could remember what Felwithe was.  
She heard a heavy bolt thrown back and a great iron door screeched open in front of her, admitting a tall dark elf (D'vinn! She thought- that was his name. A part of her cackled at remembering the horrible name, and another part screamed in barely containable terror at it. The last part -the dominant part- was simply too tired to do either) into the room. He swaggered in, and four orc soldiers scurried in behind him (her gut twisted with terror- one of them wore the robes of a shaman), smiling rictuses of rotting teeth. D'vinn was a large man for an elf (what did it mean to be an elf?), and even larger for a dark elf, with broad shoulders nearly that of a normal human's and wavy white hair spilling down his back. Fine muscles were chiseled into his body, and he had a flawless, graceful swoop to his face that spoke of dignity and malevolent intelligence. He would have been a striking figure under his black leather armor, had he not been such a loathsome creature.  
Then again, his four companions were just simply loathsome. It was obvious what they intended to do to her once D'vinn had left. She would never forgive the orcish race for that.  
Strutting up to her face, D'vinn began to speak in a deep yet sing- song voice. "So, my pet, have you enjoyed your time here with... us?" He swiveled around and swung his arm behind him, giving prominance to his four hooting orc companions. Even had she had the energy to speak, her jaw was so swollen it was impossible to talk. "I asked you a question. Answer me!" He swung a fist into her gut hard enough to make her emaciated figure swing back slightly. She collapsed in her chains and was held up only by her wrists, knees brought up as close to her chest as her bindings would allow and gasping for breath that would not come. Had she been allowed the privelege of food since she had awoken in the dungeon that first day, she would have vomited it up.  
D'vinn nodded and smirked. "Mmm, I'm glad that I have had such a profound effect on you, my pet. You cannot even speak. I like that. It is good to know that I have done my job well." Summoning up a small bit of strength from somewhere inside her, Leilia stopped her gasping and lifted her head to look him in the eye. She smirked back at him.  
D'vinn's smile faded. "Stand straight when someone's talking to you!" His booted foot swung up and struck her on the jaw, throwing her backwards and cracking several of her teeth. Not wanting a repeat of the savage blow, she stood straight as soon as she was able, chest heaving from the horrible pain. Had she been able to speak, she would have begged him to stop- not that it had changed anything before.  
D'vinn smiled cruelly again. "Good, my pet knows how to obey. I have trained her well, then." Suddenly, like a snake he struck and gripped her modest breast in a hand and squeezed until her knees buckled. She could hear her weakened wrists pop at the sudden shift in weight.  
This time her gut found something and she puked bile onto D'vinn's immaculately tended (yet now blood-splattered) leather boots. D'vinn's cruelly perfect face screwed up into a snarl. "That will cost you, my pet." With a flourish, he drew his silver knife and went to sadistic work on her.  
"You see, my pet," D'vinn said, as he dragged his knife against the inside of her left arm. "you are not here to answer my questions. You have probably figured that out by now, if you have any shred of intellect left at all." He made a similar incision an inch away from the previous one. "The truth is, I hope you do, because listening to those of your... ilk," he looked her up and down and sneered in derision "scream is sooo much more entertaining when there is intelligence behind those screams. Pets who break easily are no fun, because as soon as a they break they lose their intellect and their screams become empty, nothing more than those of a frightened animal. And tormenting animals is no fun- if I wanted that I would visit one of Crushbone's many abbatoirs. Which I don't," he said as he joined the two incisions with a V-point and wiggled his knife under the flesh. As if she would care about his pastimes in light of the horrible pain. He twirled the small strip of flesh around his finger as he babbled on. "No, I do not visit those slaughterhouses, because I am better than that. I make my own slaughterhouses. I take my pleasure from prolonging the breaking, not in the breaking itself." His mouth twisted into an ugly scowl as he ripped the full strip of flesh from her arm.  
Leilia screamed until her voice became ragged and dry. When she finally composed herself, tears streaming down her face (and blood pulsing from her gastly wound), she saw D'vinn standing before her, head tilted back in rapture. He soon leveled his eyes and turned a fearsome gaze on Leilia once more. He put the six inch long strip of flesh to his nose and sniffed it, closing his eyes and sinking deep into ecstacy once more. "You see, my pet? Screams with intelligence are so much more fun, more musical, than ones without. I love your screams. You have the finest scream I have ever heard. I am struck with rapture every time I hear it. Please, my pet, scream some more for me".  
As D'vinn went back to his work, Leilia could not help but indulge him.  
When D'vinn had finally had enough of his pleasure, he rolled his bloodstained knife across the backs of his fingers. "Wow, my pet. Simply put, wow. You can please me like no other ever has before. But, this is not wholly about pleasure- no. I am here to take my fun of you, yes, as are my companions," the four orcs still present squealed in delight, "but I am also here to train you.  
"You see, after I defeated you in combat -what a feeble effort that was, what you call fighting, hrmph!- there was another who survived, who, through the meddling of a gnome -who suffered greatly before he, too, passed away- escaped my grasp. I do not like it when such valuable and pleasing prizes such as high elves escape me. She would have been very much fun to break, no doubt, but fortunately for her, I do not care to break her. Only to have her dead.  
"You, my pet, will be my conduit for achieving that goal. You will seek her out and kill her. If you are so broken that you cannot remember her name, it is Ghonewyn.  
"Oh, do not worry, my pet. I can see the fear in your eyes. I can also see a question in them as well: how do I know her, you ask? Well, I assure you, you cried out her name quite loudly on our first session. 'Ghonewyn, Ghonewyn! Please, help me, Ghonewyn!' it was all I could do not to laugh!" he lifted his chin and gave a clipped yet boastful laugh at humour she could not begin to grasp. She could scarcely see how a call for help and mercy was something to be laughed at. Not that she could remember giving such cries.  
Yet, this name, Ghonewyn, seemed somehow... familiar to her. She could not tell how, or why, but it seemed like something she had heard in another life. Perhaps she was a friend of Leilia's? Did they meet as children, when Leilia's mother was teaching her to identify trees, plants, and special properties of both? Did they do something together? They had obviously met D'vinn at some point or another, else this Ghonewyn would mean nothing to him. Besides that, how did Leilia even get here in the first place? The thoughts were fleeting, and Leilia soon withdrew into herself in a feeble attempt to escape the agony racking her tormented body.  
When D'vinn finally composed himself, he sheathed his knife and continued talking. "Anyways, as I was saying, I am to train you, so that you might seek out this Ghonewyn and bring me her head- or any other descriptive element of her bodice to prove her death. Doing this will earn you a soft, nearly painless death at my hands. After all, I do allow mercy to those who have earned it," he smiled a mouthful of pearly white teeth.  
"Now, luckily for you, I have some more pressing matters to attend to. Our time for today is up. Fear not, though- you still serve a purpose. Since you have been sooo good to me, you will now please my companions as well. I trust that you will find the manner of their pleasure to be more fun than mine?" From past experience, Leilia doubted that very much.  
D'vinn shrugged. "Well, that too is fine with me. But, since I love your screams so much, and because you are sure that you won't enjoy the... attention, of my colleagues, I will make it so that you assuredly will not." D'vinn drew his knife and reached down. A wave of the most horrible pain Leilia had ever imagined swept her away. She could do nothing but weep.  
Dvinn's bloody hand came up holding a small, red ball of flesh between his thumb and forefinger. He leaned in close and bit it, squirting blood in Leilia's eye.  
Leilia wept uncontrollably. Memories came flooding back to her, memories of her laying with her wood elf companion, Henton, a guard of Kelethin and a fellow ranger. She remembered traveling to an open field in the Faydark forest and just lying beneath the sun with him amidst tall grass, sunflowers, dandelions, and any number of other plants. She remembered fighting beside him against the orcs when they launched an expiditionary force against the city. She remembered making love with him the night before she left on her mission against Emporer Crush. She remembered promising him that she would come back, that they would die together in battle. She had dreamed every night of her journey of when she would return and be back in his loving arms. There was nothing she wouldn't give to be back in Henton's strong embrace- though she doubted he would take her back, now.  
When she collapsed in tears and exhaustion, D'vinn smiled and flicked the crushed ball in her face. "You are mine now, my pet. Mine forever. Don't forget that." He tossed his knife into the air, and after three full turns of the blade, caught it by its point, tossed it in the air once more, and leaned to the side, the blade sliding cleanly into the sheath. He smiled and bowed to her, then turned away and walked in the direction of the door. When he reached the door Leilia heard him, through her haze of agony of both mind and body, speak to the robed orc. "Heal her enough so that she does not bleed to death. Then you may take your turn with her." The orcs hooted and hollered in pleasure. D'vinn looked back at her and smiled. He exited the room through the heavy iron door, and she could hear the bolt slam shut.  
The four orcs charged her as one. True to D'vinn's order, the shaman healed her slightly (which she almost regretted, until for some reason the healing repaired her broken teeth as well, and did not hurt this time- indeed, it felt soothing), but that did not stop the other three.  
Swirling around her, fondling her soft elfin flesh, the orcs snarled and forced their tongues into her mouth. When she bit the tongue off of one, the other three merely hooted louder and became more insistent. She could feel their fingers wriggling inside her.  
She prayed to the god whose name she could no longer remember that it would all be over soon, that this time they would actually kill her. She knew that the god would not be so merciful. 


End file.
